Won't Stand For It
by WrenClayton
Summary: Witches. They just never lead anywhere good, do they? Though this is probably the most awkward curse Dean's ever had on him. Solo Dean, no pairings. Warnings: Non-con/dub-con (by way of magical sex curse) that is generally made light of. Also, overstimulation.


Everyone knew that witches were gross.

It was a fact of life. Witches were always mixing up blood and snot and eye of newt and god knows what else to make people's teeth fall out. Every witch Dean had ever met, he'd gotten this dirty feeling under his skin when he was around them, like he needed to take a few dozen showers with a steel wool sponge to really be clean again.

And that is why, scientifically, the barista Hadley Sherman couldn't be a witch. Not when she had sweet, sparkly, peach-flavored lip gloss and such a bright smile and a flower tucked behind her ear all the time. Witches didn't do that stuff. Witches didn't have a little swing to their hips when they walked away that somehow negated the "girlishness" of having such spring in their step, transforming it into something more seductive.

This wasn't typical for Dean. He usually liked 'em slutty. He liked a girl who knew what she wanted, who wanted _him, _and who wasn't afraid to come forward about that. He liked women who took the reins and threw him up against a wall before blowing him into next Tuesday, who tore his clothes off and rode his face.

Hadley was so… coy. Not his type at all. And yet he found himself giving her that_smile _that he normally saved for girls who advertised a little more cleavage, a little more "let's go back to your place and break some furniture." He was supposed to just be asking Hadley a few Standard Investigation Questions about the recent medical oddities that were occurring in the town — weird things like spontaneous photographic memory and basketballs stuck permanently to hands — but he kept on giving her that _smile. _And then somehow she sat down and was having coffee with him, even though Dean didn't go on _coffee dates _with girls, especially not ones he was just supposed to be asking job questions.

"So, uh… I gotta ask, Ms. Sherman. When does your shift end?"

Hadley gave him a cute little smile and chided, "Really, Agent Harrison. Is sex all you want?"

"Nonsense. I'm here to do my job."

There was no way Hadley Sherman could be a witch.

* * *

Sam slammed the motel door open and announced, "Hadley Sherman is the witch."

Dean jumped at the slam of the door, pursing his eyebrows in confusion. " … Nah," he said at last, "no way."

Sam frowned, hesitating in the middle of taking off his jacket. " … Did you sleep with her?"

"Pssh, no." Dean crossed his arms, shrugging dismissively. Sam's lips tightened in an utterly unconvinced way.

" … You slept with a witch, Dean."

"I did _not _sleep with a witch!"

* * *

Three hours and a fruitless search later, Dean was forced to admit that Sam was probably right: the suddenly and suspiciously missing Hadley Sherman was — god help him — _a witch_.

Her timely disappearance alone wouldn't have convinced Dean. … But the altars in her room were pretty damning.

"Oh fuck I slept with a witch."

Sam snorted. "Told you."

It was a sweaty walk back home in the midsummer sun, but some monster goop from the last job had gotten under Baby's hood and was gumming her up, so walking around town it was. Aside from the moment of research Sam had interrupted, Dean had been on his feet almost all day, and he was looking forward to collapsing back in the motel room. He blew out a sigh of relief when they stepped into the conditioned air of the room and he threw his jacket off.

Sam grunted as he sat down on the foot of the bed, pulling his laptop out of the bag and flipping it open. Dean let out a long breath and sunk into one of the motel chairs.

Despite his pants, despite the innocuous nature of the chair, as soon as he sat down, Dean felt something thick and slippery push between his ass cheeks and ram against his entrance hard enough to burn. His brain generated the word _cock_and Dean flailed with a shrill noise and lost his balance, knocking over the chair, landing on his hands and knees.

Sam was giving him a look like he'd completely lost his mind. " … Uh, what was_that _about?"

Dean stood up quickly, hesitantly rubbing his ass through his pants and sort of hoping Sam wouldn't notice. Everything felt fine back there, aside from a lingering burn and a slight slickness. Maybe he'd just imagined it.

… Who the hell just _imagines _something like that?

Sam was still looking at him expectantly, so Dean just coughed and muttered, "Cockroach," glowering as Sam gave a scornful snort and turned his attention back to the computer. Dean carefully lifted the chair upright, giving it a deeply suspicious look. Seemed like just a normal chair. Carefully, he gripped the arms of the chair and started lowering himself onto it.

The hot, slick head of a cock pushed against his ass.

Dean straightened up quickly, face going pale.

"Dean, is there something you wanna tell me?" Sam pressed.

"Nope." Dean pursed his lips and walked to the bathroom. "Nothing. Nothing I want to tell you."

Sam's protest was cut off as Dean shut and locked the door. Well, only one thing to do now. Was the chair the problem, or… god help him… was his ass the problem? Dean lowered the toilet seat and tried sitting down, holding the sink for support just in case —

— just in case of that lubed-up shaft trying to press into his ass again.

Dean stood up quickly. Fuck, his ass _was_ the problem.

* * *

Dean managed to get through the rest of the day without sitting. By evening, his legs were ready to kill him. He'd discovered that he could lean against a wall without problems, but that didn't take the strain off his legs like he needed. All day, Sam gave him looks that oscillated between deeply concerned and deeply judgmental. Dean was happy to ignore both. But when he forgot for a moment and tried to sit down before springing up again, he couldn't ignore Sam's laugh.

"Dean… " The obnoxious half-grin on Sam's face made Dean's fists clench. " … Did the witch put a curse on your _butt_?"

The blush that spread across Dean's face probably answered Sam's question. Sam made a poor effort to swallow his laughter and turned back to his laptop while Dean scowled, leaning against the wall and grabbing a box of chinese food off the motel table, eating it sullenly.

* * *

As soon as dinner was done, Dean threw the box away and walked over to the bed.

"Imma make it an early night," he grunted, muffling a yawn. "Been a long day."

"A long day of butt-curses," muttered Sam, grinning at his laptop.

"Shut up, bitch."

Dean arched his back in a stretch, eyeing the bed cautiously. Lying down on his back was probably a bad idea. But his stomach ought to be safe. Dean crawled onto the bed and flopped down with a sigh.

It was supposed to be a sigh.

But when his hips hit the bed, a wet, slick _heat _enveloped his cock, muscular and squeezing, slippery and _tight. _And the noise Dean let out as he — well, as he grabbed the sheets and _bucked _into it — was a sex-drenched _groan_.

Dean wrenched himself up on his hands and knees, panting slightly. Sam was staring at him like he'd just eaten a live, squirming baby.

" … Sam?" Dean grunted at length. "I think I'm cursed."

"No shit," Sam rasped.

Dean gave the bed a sad, longing look before climbing out of it. Lying on his stomach wasn't a _bad _sensation at all… but it would be fucking weird to try and fall asleep — with _Sam _right there no less — while his cock felt like _that_. Dean yawned and ruffled a hand through his hair in defeat. "Fuck it, hand over the laptop. Looks like I won't be sleeping tonight."

* * *

It was deep past midnight and Sam was long asleep when Dean couldn't take it any more and decided to give the bed another go. Maybe it wouldn't be as creepy for him if Sam was asleep and oblivious. He certainly hoped so, because he was already erect just in anticipation, and that didn't bode well. Dean crawled into the bed, hands and knees, and slowly lowered himself to the mattress.

Wet, sweet warmth kissed the head of his cock. Dean bit his lip and tried not to make a sound as he slowly lowered his hips, sinking into that warm feeling. He bit down on a mouthful of blanket and shook a little, finally letting his muscles relax as he lay flat on the mattress. God, it felt like he was buried to the hilt in the tightest, wettest pussy he'd ever felt. Sweet and sloppy, getting his balls damp as he adjusted himself on the bed. And it wouldn't hold still around his cock. It felt like she was wriggling under him, he almost swore he could hear her excited squeaks. Dean cursed softly and tried not to move, tried to not even breathe too much. Because if he started thrusting, he wouldn't be able to stop and he_certainly _wouldn't be able to stay quiet. And the last thing he needed was Sam waking up to _that._

Dean closed his eyes and took slow, even breaths, trying to ignore the slick squeeze around his cock and just drift off into sleep. It was outright impossible. His pulse was racing, pleasure sparking through his body. That wet heat kept clenching around him, pleading for a thrust. Dean ground his teeth and tried to hold still, shaking. It was squeezing and pumping around him, just like a cunt would with his cock buried in it, just like it would when… when she was… coming…

Dean wrenched himself up on his hands and knees, breathing hard. He couldn't do this, he couldn't fall asleep like that. Lying on his stomach was right out.

Maybe his side. Dean chewed his lip and lowered one leg to the bed, letting his hip follow. As soon as his hip hit the mattress, it felt like his cock had bumped against a wet, open mouth. Dean barely had time to register this before he felt another tongue swipe quick and teasing alone the crease of his ass.

Dean flung himself off the bed, breathing hard. He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. Fuck, he liked sex as much as the next human being, but he didn't want it _all the goddamn time._

_"Really, Agent Harrison. Is sex all you want?"_

"Fuck," Dean groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. The honors student with the sudden photographic memory, the jock who literally couldn't stop dribbling a basketball, it made sense now. Hadley Sherman was giving everyone what they wanted… but she was giving it 24/7 until it became dreadful.

He'd tell Sam about his discovery in the morning. But god he needed some sleep. It couldn't be more than an hour or two until sunrise. Dean rubbed a hand over his face, groaning unhappily. Only one sleeping position left to try.

Dean faced away from the bed and sat down on it slowly. This time, when the wet, eager cock pushed against his hole, Dean steeled himself and sunk down on it. Fuck, that was a weird sensation, a hot length stretching his hole open and pushing into his body. Dean was no stranger to ass play; he loved dragging a girl between his legs, having her lick his ass and then blow him until he came with her fingers pumping inside him. But this — this was entirely different. Dean's arms shook as he tried to lower himself slowly, fighting down whimpers at each slick inch that slid into him. He couldn't hold back a groan when his hips finally pressed against the bed, that cock buried inside him.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck… " Dean chewed his lip and swung his legs onto the bed, cringing as it jostled the phantom dick inside him. "Fucking _witches… _"

Somehow, Dean managed to get himself entirely on the bed, panting up at the ceiling. The sensation of a cock snugged up inside him wouldn't go away, but at least it wasn't moving. Dean took deep breaths, trying to let himself adjust to the feeling. His cock was still hard, and it had twitched each time he'd tried to move and had tensed around that girth. But maybe if he just lay still now, his erection would go away and he could get some sleep. Drifting off with a dick in his ass wasn't ideal, but it seemed like the only option he had. Dean heaved a slow, deep breath, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Dean mumbled sleepily as he drifted back into consciousness. He'd been having the strangest dream, though now that he was awake he was forgetting the details. Something that had left his dick hard, anyway. He thought Rhonda Hurley might have been involved.

Dean shifted a little on top of the covers — too damn hot to bundle under them — and let out a choked gasp as the oddest sensation pulsed through him. The feeling was hot, almost burning, and — and _full. _Dean squirmed and gasped again as he registered the sensation of a thick, rigid cock buried in his ass.

He almost panicked before remembering the curse. It was a _fake _cock, a freaky, invisible, witch-generated cock. No, wait, that made it worse. Dean stared at the ceiling and tried to catch his breath, flexing uncontrollably around the phantom shaft. He felt… really _wet _inside too. Sloppy. Like…

… Like that absolutely not-real dick had ejaculated inside him during the night. Several times.

Dean moaned and rubbed a hand over his face miserably. It was at this juncture that he finally remembered Sam, and glanced at the other bed. He blew out a breath of relief when he was met only with the sight of an empty bed and a quickly scribbled note. Dean gave himself a moment, steeled himself, and sat up on the bed. He swore he felt the cock _twitch _inside him.

Dean was glad as fuck that Sam wasn't around, because the whimpers and gasps he made pulling himself off of that cock were downright pitiful. He felt a _gush_when it slipped out of his body, stickiness dribbling out of his loose hole and soaking his boxers, too convincing to be fake. Dean's shaking hands fumbled with his boxers and he wrenched them down, reaching around to feel his ass. He choked at the wetness that greeted his fingers. The entire crease of his ass was slippery with come.

_Freaky, fake, witch-generated semen. _

"Please god someone shoot me," Dean breathed, squeezing his eyes shut. His cock was still hard, rock hard, pointing out from his body now that the boxers no longer held it in place. Dean grunted and yanked his underwear back up, stalking over to Sam's bed and ignoring the maelstrom of weird, sexual feelings in his body as he picked up the note.

_Out fixing your butt curse. Get some sleep._

Dean sighed. He was no help to Sam right now and he knew it. He just hoped that Sam didn't confess some hobby or desire in front of Hadley. He might get stuck eating organic vegetables for eternity or something dorky like that…

Dean grunted unhappy at his erection. His whole body was shivery with sensation, even with nothing touching him right now. Dean's eyes slid to the bed and he bit his lip, weighing the temptation. … Sam probably wouldn't be back for a while…

Dean practically leaped onto the bed, muffling his groan with a pillow as he sunk into that hot, tight heat. He slammed his hips forward hard, groaning again, panting into the fluff of the pillow. The slick tightness around his cock squeezed and pumped as he pounded into it. He trembled, clutching the pillow like it was the only thing rooting him to the earth. It was mere minutes before Dean came, groaning, come soaking his boxers. He tried to catch his breath there, that tight wetness still wrapped around his cock, pulsing gently as if asking for more. Dean's erection hadn't gone away by the time he'd caught his breath. With a grimace he let out a groan and slammed his hips down again.

The second one took longer. Dean's shirt was stuck to his back with sweat, the pillow damp from him biting it and gasping open-mouthed against it as he thrust. His whole body was shaking and he damn near _writhed _as he came a second time, gasping and shouting. His head was spinning as he came down from the endorphin high, panting hard into the pillow. He was a wet mess of sweat and semen and _phantom girl come. _The pussy around his cock gave an eager little tug, squeezing his softening cock, and Dean whined and rolled over instinctively, the way he would roll off a spent partner. As his back hit the bed, he grabbed the sheets and gasped at the sudden sensation of a cock plunging into him, slipping easily into his loose hole.

Dean was breathing hard, his cock soft and wet and sensitive, little throbs going through it at the feel of that dick stretching him. He bit his lip and pulled his soaked boxers down, exposing his cock to the cool air, as if that would soothe it. God, he could barely breathe. The cock inside him gave a little shift, and Dean rolled his head back against the pillow and groaned in a mixture of arousal and frustration.

"No no fuck, come on, I can't… "

The shaft inside him gave a slow, shallow thrust. Dean's whole body twitched when it bumped against something inside him that sent pleasure through his body. His soft cock slipped over his semen-slick belly as the length thrust again.

"Fuck, dammit, I'm done!" Dean shouted to absolutely nothing. "God, I can't fucking go for another, I can't… " Dean almost sobbed as his cock started to stiffen again, wet and pink against his belly. "Mother fucking _witches_… "

The shaft was humping into him steadily now, and this was new, this was _not _what it had been doing before, and Dean's cock was so sensitive that it felt like he'd been punched in the gut _in the best possible way _every time his half-hearted erection rolled against his stomach. He couldn't take anymore, he couldn't come again, his legs twitched and spasmed uncontrollably with each movement.

Finally Dean summoned up the strength to wrench himself out of bed, knees wobbling as he steadied himself on the bedside table and panted. His boxers were almost saturated with a combination of his own come and _freaky witch curse come. _Dean staggered to the bathroom, grabbing furniture to support himself as he went. He stripped out of his sweat-soaked clothes and climbed into the shower, leaning against the wall for support. He turned both knobs, shouting curses as cold water drilled against his body. A few minutes and a few dozen swear words later, Dean was shivering and flaccid and _wide _awake, scrubbing himself down rigorously. Mother. Fucking. Witches.

* * *

Dean spent the rest of the day fixing up Baby. The work didn't require sitting, and it was a way to make himself useful while Sam was gone. By mid afternoon, he'd gotten her purring like a dream again. He'd gone inside to have a celebratory beer and watch some (standing) TV when Sam came back, looking a little out of breath but no worse for the wear.

"Hadley?" Dean asked by way of greeting.

Sam gave him a slightly tired nod, flopping down in a chair. "Taken care of."

Dean gestured with his beer. "And… when you say 'taken care of…'"

Sam looked up at him wearily. He spread his arms in defeat. "I stripped her powers, okay? All the curses undone, no further ones to be made." He rotated his finger in a circle. "Here, try sitting down. See if your butt thing's gone."

Dean frowned, not thrilled with the idea. Still, he had to find out at some point. He flinched as he lowered himself towards the bed, letting out a deep breath of relief when his butt was met with nothing but mattress.

"Holy fuck that's an improvement," he rasped, taking a long draw on his beer.

" … Yeah. I _never _want to know what that whole thing was about."

"Great, because I never want to tell you," Dean replied, tipping his beer at Sam before finishing the last of it.

Sam stood up. "Wanna get lunch?"

"Oh Christ yes, I haven't eaten all day." Dean put his beer bottle down on the bedside table and followed Sam out to the car. It would be nice to drive again.

Dean opened the door to the Impala and almost sat down before his movements screeched to a stop. Sitting right in the middle of the driver's seat, innocent as you like, was a small black object that was unmistakably a butt plug.

Dean slowly straightened up and leveled a glare at Sam that could have melted through steel. Sam was looking off into space in a completely failed attempt at innocence, mouth twitching slightly.

"You defiled my Baby," Dean ground out.

Sam's laughter broke through in snorts and he finally stopped trying to hide it, leaning against the hood of the Impala for support while Dean continued trying to silently kill him with his mind. Dean grabbed the plug off the seat and hurled it at Sam, snarling when it only made Sam laugh harder.

"You're going to regret that before the day is out, mark my words!" Dean snapped, climbing into the seat. He revved up the engine as a laughing Sam climbed in next to him.


End file.
